


Control

by Rynn336



Series: Songs for the Hopeful Heart [14]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Fights, Frontotemporal Dementia, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynn336/pseuds/Rynn336
Summary: I couldn't stand the person inside me; I turned all the mirrors around.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daddykeehl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddykeehl/gifts).



> FINALLY  
> Holy fuck how long has it been since I got the request for this song? At least two weeks. At long last, though, here it is!  
> I was having a lot of trouble with this song because I've run out of angsty ideas for this series. I'm sort of a three-trick pony; I can write fights, self-harm, and fluff. Shit, that's kind of terrible.  
> The song for this fic is [Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so8V5dAli-Q) by Halsey.  
> But then I thought of my other series, Call Me Hopeless, But Not Romantic, and thought the song fit it pretty well, so I brought my Call Me Hopeless versions of the characters back. If you haven't read the series, it's basically just a little school-life AU where Nagito actually dies from the dementia he mentioned being diagnosed with in his free time events. It's pretty angsty, but I hope you enjoy!

Nagito tiptoes down the hallway, hard wood creaking quietly beneath his feet, his arms extended to keep himself steady against the walls. Soft bluish grey light filters through the window behind him, sending his shadow sprawling across the floor, faint and ghostly, stretched out like a rubber band on the verge of breaking. He sighs and lets his fingers dance lightly across the doorjamb to his right before pushing the door open.

Hajime’s curled up beneath the covers, the thick bear-patterned flannel sheets pulled up to his cheek, hardly more than just a lump in his comforter. He’s pulled his knees up to his chest and tucked his chin down to his chest, and Nagito smiles sadly. He wants more than anything to sit down beside him, run his fingers through his hair, kiss his cheek, tell him he’s sorry.

But he won’t. He can’t. He’s long past doubting Hajime’s love for him – trust has been something Hajime’s tried to drill into him for years now – but he knows Hajime doesn’t want to see him right now. Probably doesn’t even want to be in the same house as him.

Their fight last night, for once, was not Nagito’s fault. But, as always, it was Nagito who made it worse.

He’s always been like that. He has that effect on people when he doesn’t even try.

Like a ghost. A poltergeist. Sometimes he wonders if he’ll see himself in the mirror when he gets up to get ready in the morning.

 

_“What are you talking about?” Hajime breathed, his mouth hanging open, disbelief and hurt mingling and wrestling in his eyes._

_Nagito put a hand on his hip, narrowing his eyes and leaning back on his heels. Faintly, he can hear himself screaming somewhere inside his head, frantically straining to twist the kaleidoscope in his brain, to backpedal, but the scope is stuck, and the damage is already done. All he can do now is make it worse. “Oh, I think you know. You’re not stupid, even if you act like it most of the time.”_

_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”_

_“Exactly what it sounds like.”_

_“Oh, so now you’re_ so _much better than me just because of your stupid dementia or whatever? What gives you the right to talk to me like this?”_

_“Hajime,” Nagito warned in a low growl. “That’s too far.”_

_Hajime’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. He let it out in a defeated sigh. “You’re right. It is. It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry.”_

_“Oh, you are, are you? You realize that’s probably the sixth or seventh time you’ve brought that up in the last week?”_

_“I – ”_

Nagito pulls the door closed with an almost inaudible click and makes his way to the kitchen. He hops up on the counter, the surface icy cold beneath him, and reaches out to open a cabinet to his right. Letting his head rest against the wall behind him, he slides a water glass towards him, fills it in the sink beside him, and closes the cabinet.

_“You don’t think I fucking_ know _I have dementia? Do you think you have to remind me that I’ve only got a couple of months to live? Maybe you really are stupid.”_

_“I know, Nagito, I know, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”_

_“Bullshit,” Nagito scoffed, turning on his heel, surveying the kitchen around them in a slow sweep, his gaze roaming over the little white cracks in the lavender paint, the cracks in the tinted glass doors of the cabinets, the cracks clawing their way across the empty flower vase on the cracked granite countertop. He laughed mirthlessly as Hajime’s face slid into view again. “It_ is _going to happen again, because that’s just the kind of person you are. Sometimes I think you like hurting me. I’m always so forgiving, aren’t I? You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, and as far as you’re concerned, I’m just some loyal dog, crouching at your feet, waiting for you to tell me to sit and stay and wait for you while you go off frolicking around and planning your future. I don’t have a future. Every god damn day, I sit here and listen to you bitch about how difficult it is to get into college, how you don’t know if graduation from Hope’s Peak as a Reserve Course student will be enough to guarantee you success like it’s supposed to, how hard it’s going to be to find job openings when you’re older, how you’re not sure if you’ll ever find someone to settle down with, have a family with. Guess what? I’m not going to live until Christmas! So I guess that’s one thing less you have to worry about now. You don’t need to get me a Christmas present this year. Or next. Or the year after. Here you are, babbling on about some future without me, when – I mean, don’t you think maybe I want, more than anything, a future with you?” He knew he wasn’t making sense. He wasn’t even sure anymore what the argument was about in the first place. “You’re a terrible boyfriend, you know that?”_

_The kaleidoscope finally turned, the colors swirling and melting together, and Nagito stepped back, blinking in shock, the tension flooding out of every muscle in his body as Hajime stared at him, mouth agape, his hands clutching the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip. “I know,” he said quietly._

Nagito sips at his water halfheartedly. He kicks his feet out, one at a time, slowing them as they fall again so they tap the cupboards beneath him with a tiny _thunk._ Too many cupboards. Too many doorways.

The soft sound of shuffling feet surprises him, and he looks up, setting his glass down next to him. Hajime’s cheeks glow silver in the faint moonlight, but his eyes are lost in shadow too thick to see through. Nagito tilts his head and exhales slowly through his lips. “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” Hajime says. He stands stock still, feet shoulder width apart, hands at his sides, shoulders hunched and every muscle in his body tensed as if bracing for some invisible blow.

Nagito drops onto the floor. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I heard you come into my room.”

“I woke you up?”

“No. I wasn’t asleep.”

“Oh.” Junko gave Nagito a cigarette once. He kind of wishes he had one now.

Hajime pushes his hair away from his forehead and sighs as the silence drags on. “Alright,” he says finally. “Are we just going to pretend last night never happened or are we going to talk about it?”

Nagito spreads his hands. “I assumed you followed me in here because you wanted to talk about it. But, I mean, communication has never been one of our strong suits.”

Hajime eyes him up and down shrewdly. “You weren’t yourself last night,” he remarks.

“Yeah, well, you’d better get used to it.”

“I am used to it.”

Nagito freezes. The words hit him like a bus. He forgets how to breathe for a moment, and his mouth opens and shuts uselessly.

His boyfriend shrugs. “I’ve never been the best with…you know, tact. I’m not a very self-aware person, and it’s something I’ve always wanted to get better at. So…I guess I’m saying you’re right. I need to be more careful what I say, to you and around you. And anywhere, really.”

“No. I’m not right,” Nagito says, smiling dryly. “You’ve got every right to talk about your future, and if I were half the boyfriend you are, I’d be receptive and supportive of anything you have to say. I know I’m not going to be your last love and I know someday you’ll probably fall in love with someone who’s far more amazing than me, who you can cherish and who’ll treat you as kindly as you deserve.”

“You’re not yourself right now, either.”

“Damn right I’m not.” He’s not even sure who he is anymore. He’s lost all reference for what it’s like to be himself.

Hajime yawns and studies Nagito for a moment. “I love you.”

“You too,” Nagito says quietly.

Hajime nods, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, and turns around. He leaves the kitchen, and a moment later, his bedroom door shuts a ways down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm gonna stop with my usual end notes, but if you've got a song you'd like me to write to, make sure to let me know in the comments!


End file.
